


Russian Roulette

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Series: After Hours [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Choking, M/M, Mafia AU, Restraint, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, don't trust your author, otayuri - Freeform, yuri is 17 which is consenting age thank you very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-25 21:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12541264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: There's a note on the refrigerator door, it's been there for three days;Out. Don't let anyone in. Lock the doorbehind you. You know where everythingis. Tell Mama if you need anything.-O.





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> This will make more sense if you read the prequel, The Deep End. Not sure if it'd work on its own, but you're welcome to try.
> 
> In any case, like the last one, this one is based on a song. [Alligator Blood](https://youtu.be/ShYBjIfJX1A), by Bring Me The Horizon, a song I chose specifically _because_ it's chaotic and violent and not everyone's taste. It's funny, when I got to the scene that this song makes me think of, my Pandora started playing it.
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this whole thing in the span of two days, which is crazy for me. The only "editing" it's had is [Lecheesie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeCheesie/pseuds/LeCheesie) reading it over before I demanded a mood board from her. She's so awesome. <3
> 
> ANOTHER THING, I may as well bring up now, coz it gets mentioned later, YES, Yuri is 17. You did read that tag right. No, I'm not changing it, feel free to ignore those lines if they make you uncomfortable.

** RUSSIAN ROULETTE**

**  
**

He steals a car.

It's not as exciting as he thought it would be, honestly. A girl smiles at him from a diner booth and he hates the color of her hair. It's not red but it's not blonde and he decides to do it when she and her companion get up to use the restroom just before his shift ends. What kind of idiots just leave their stuff in a booth unattended anyway? The keys are right there when he puts their food down and no one is working the floor but himself and Mama Lilia, and she's busy with the only other customers.

The parking lot is behind the building, out of sight of the windows. He leaves his apron by the back door and grabs his coat as he heads out into the wind. At the edge of the lot, he hits the unlock button on the key fob and the headlights of any ugly seafoam green Ford flash. He'd kind of been hoping for something flashy, but the couple really hadn't looked like much.

The interior smells like cigarettes and when he peels out of the lot, avoiding the front of the building, he doesn't have any idea where he's going. He heads down Main and debates going to Otabek's offices. Would he be proud? Would he be annoyed? Would he even be there? The man's been awfully busy lately, Yuri's feeling a little neglected. At a red light he digs into the glove box and finds an open box of cigarettes and a half empty lighter that he helps himself to.

As he tucks the lighter into the pocket of his shirt he wonders if Otabek would even care if he wasn't around. He hadn't really wanted the blonde there in the first place, he was just… incredibly _persuasive_. Yuri grins to himself and drives over the speed limit towards the edge of town. Otabek is so hard to resist, like a bronzed god that he needs to gravitate to and worship. And he would, if the other would let him. But they haven't slept together again, not since Otabek found out how _young_ Yuri actually is. So he's seventeen, who cares? He knew what he was doing and it was. so. worth. it. How he'd love to get his tongue back onto that skin…

He almost runs a stop sign in his daydreams, and leans on the wheel to watch a semi fly by. He could be dead right now. He should be dead right now. Things to sweep under the rug and leave behind. He smiles, because anything else would be crying, and turns the car, pulling it into a gas station. He stubs out his cigarette, puts $10 into the tank, then turns the car around.

He's not cut out for this. He knows that. He should be playing his piano in his old apartment, his grandfather drinking Russian tea and telling him to play something less scripted. He should be in school, off to college with the boys and girls hanging on his every breath. He should be in a loft above a city skyline, drinking hot chocolate and watching Netflix with a boyfriend wrapped around him. He should want all of that.

He pulls back into the parking lot of the diner and glances at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

He should want it, but he doesn't.

\------*------

Potya used to greet him at the door, her baby blue eyes looking mournfully at him like he'd betrayed her by being gone all day. Then, he'd shoved his way into Otabek's apartment, set up her cat tree by a window overlooking a park, and she'd lost interest in waiting for him. He'd been a little miffed to learn the time they slept together Otabek hadn't brought him to his new place, but a safe house the Bratva used sometimes. Otabek's real apartment is small, simple, undecorated. It drove Yuri nuts that someone could live so impersonalized, but when he'd tried to change anything, Otabek had stopped him and made him understand.

 _“It was a mistake to stay in the old building so long. I won't stay here long, don't try to make it comfortable. Don't forget, this isn't a home.”_ But then he'd put a large warm hand on Yuri's cheek, brushing his chin with his thumb and Yuri almost forgot. The taller man had smiled but it hadn't reached his eyes, then let him go. He'd felt lonely before, but he'd never felt so alone as he had then.

The main room is still dark when he shrugs off his jacket and hangs it in the front closet. He clicks his tongue to call his ragdoll cat, but she stubbornly doesn't appear, so he moves through the living room into the kitchenette. There's a note on the refrigerator door, it's been there for three days;

_Out. Don't let anyone in. Lock the door_  
_behind you. You know where everything  
is. Tell Mama if you need anything._

_-O._

He could take it down, but it's his only real solid proof that Otabek exists. The graceful handwriting is proof he isn't some ghost Yuri's created to keep him company. He touches the edge of it, presses down a curl, then tugs the fridge open and pulls out a bottle of water, before retreating back across the living room space. Potya has moved, finally, perched on the edge of the topmost platform of her cat tree, still looking out to the window. She yawns and her tail swings over the edge, lazily, once, before her brilliant blue eyes move to acknowledge his approach.

“Hey, baby.” He murmurs, picking her up with one hand, pulling her to his chest, “Did you miss me?” He buries his nose in her fur and closes his eyes. Her scent sends him back, for a brief instant he's ten again, in his father's office, listening to him arguing with another family member, trying to ignore the world and become one with his pet cat. Potya would rather be watching the park or the birds, or whatever she finds so fascinating about the view. She digs claws into his wrist and issues a warning meow to be released. It pulls him back to the present, where he belongs, so he puts her back on her perch, and turns away.

The apartment is cold, hollow, lonely. It's not quite what he'd imagined when he'd followed Otabek, when he'd told him to take him with him. He’d told Otabek he didn’t want to be left behind, and maybe to the older man, he hasn’t been, but right now it doesn’t feel much different. He runs his fingers through Potya’s soft fur one more time, then wanders slowly across the room towards the bedrooms. There’s two, one Otabek used as his and one he’d been using to store equipment. There’s a pull-out couch in there he makes Yuri sleep in most nights, and Yuri hates it. The room is dark and windowless and filled with shapes his brain tricks him with. Nightmares that come to life when the lights are out and he’s alone. Sometimes, if he wakes up screaming, Otabek will let him change rooms. Other times, he sleeps on the couch in the living room. Most nights, he doesn’t sleep at all.

He’s slept in Otabek’s bed the last two nights, without permission. But it smells like him and Yuri will take his comforts where he can. Whatever will crush the loneliness that braids into his bloodstream like he used to braid his hair. He peels off his own shirt and pants, leaving them in a pile by the door, and pulls on a pale-blue button-up he’d pulled from the laundry, dragging the collar to his nose to inhale the spicy scent of Otabek’s expensive cologne. He wonders what Otabek would think if he saw him like this, if it would mean anything to him.

He pushes the blankets aside more than lifts them before crawling on the mattress, it’s a small bed, probably meant to deter Yuri from trying to share it with the broad shoulders of the other. It only makes him want to lay on the other’s chest, honestly. When he buries his face in the pillow, his hair falls over him like a veil and blocks out the little bit of light from the single window in the room. He’s hit with exhaustion like a wave, it swirls like a tidal pool and drags at him as Potya joins him, curls into his side as the storm inside him rolls over his shoulders.

He wishes Otabek would come home. _This isn’t a home._ He hears Otabek’s voice whispering, but he’s too far gone to remember.

\------*------

There’s movement. It hits him like his nightmares do, makes his eyes fly open and his fingers go under the pillow, like Otabek taught him, but there’s no gun there. Stupid, that he didn’t move one there three days ago. So he stills, watches Potya’s tail flip back and forth slowly through nearly-closed eyes as he feigns sleep, tries to calm his breathing.

There’s footsteps, quiet, almost familiar. _Grandpa._ He thinks, at first. But he knows it can’t be. It never will be. Memories of pools of blood on an apartment floor and a shirt in a bag in a storage locker he pays for will never let him forget.

Otabek walks through the bedroom door, stills and stares at him. He wants to sit up, wants to throw himself at him and welcome him home. The look on the other’s face stops him. It’s nothing he’s ever seen before. Somewhere between soft, and sad, and almost...happy? Did that make any sense? It doesn’t last long, and Yuri closes his eyes completely as Otabek crosses the room to the edge of the bed. Fingers brush his hair back from his face. It itches, makes him want to move, but he can’t. He’s never had this, and if he moves, he doesn’t think he ever will again.

Then the touch is gone and the footsteps are moving away. He hears the attached bathroom’s light flick on, so he opens his eyes. Otabek is peeling off his shirt, looking at himself in the mirror. Yuri watches as tattoos reveal themselves, thin black lines and bursts of color. The side of Otabek no one gets to see, something only Yuri can. Otabek moves deeper into the bathroom and Yuri hears the shower turn on. It’s enough noise, he figures he can pretend to wake up now.

So he sits up, rubs at his eyes. Potya yawns and stretches, circles and curls into his thigh with a huff. He pets her once and looks at the bathroom, “Otabek?” There’s no answer, so he climbs out of bed.

Otabek is by the shower, pouring antiseptic onto gauze. Yuri frowns, he hadn’t seen injuries before, but he sees them now, decorating the knuckles of the hand he can see. He steps into the small room that’s quickly becoming warm from the shower, “Are you okay?”

The taller man turns, doesn’t seem surprised to see him there, “It’s nothing major, just some scrapes.” But Yuri is still worried, takes the bottle and the gauze and Otabek lets him, watches him with cautious eyes, “Why were you sleeping in here?”

Yuri shrugs, sets the bottle on the counter beside the sink and picks up one of Otabek’s hands before he looks up at him, meeting his eyes, “I missed you, that’s all.”

He doesn’t know how to read Otabek’s expression. He wonders if he ever will be able to. If Otabek will give him the opportunity to. He turns his eyes down and cleans the scratches carefully. Otabek says nothing, doesn’t indicate any pain, Yuri can feel his eyes on him. When he finishes one hand, he reaches for the other. When he wraps his hand around the palm, he hears Otabek hiss, but when he looks up, his face is blank. He wonders where Otabek went, what he did, what was done to him. But he’s not allowed to ask those questions.

When he’s done he throws away the gauze and gestures to the shower, “Go ahead. Do you want some dinner? I can make something.”

“No, it’s fine. Go back to bed. We can talk in the morning.” The rumble of Otabek’s voice is quiet, Yuri can hear the exhaustion. He nods and turns, heads for the door where he hears Otabek remove the last of his clothes. He pauses at the frame and watches him climb into the tub, watches the curtain seal shut. He listens to the water change as the other steps into it, then makes a choice.

He doesn’t give Otabek time to think, he’s past the barrier, into the water, curling his arms over tan shoulders and leaning against a broad chest before Otabek can even open his eyes. His fingers scrape into the short part of the other’s hair and he surges up on the tips of his toes to kiss warm, chapped lips that don’t respond. He didn’t expect them to, but he’s pleased when hands land on his bare hips, even if they try to pull him away. He doesn’t let himself go far.

“Yur-” He silences him with a brush of his finger over the other’s lip, leans forward to kiss him again, captures the bottom lip with his teeth and tugs. It pulls a response, Otabek leans forward, pulls Yuri’s hips back into his own, tilts his head to crush their mouths together. Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s neck as he’s arched backwards, smiling into the kiss, pushing his tongue forward to battle for control. He lets himself lose.

Lets himself be pushed against the cold wall behind him, warm hands moving up his sides, pushing his arms over his head, bringing his wrists together to be pinned there. Dark eyes search his face as he licks his lips, he tries to roll his hips forward again, but Otabek moves out of it.

“What are you doing? We discussed this.”

Yuri blinks slowly, likes how Otabek’s eyes go to his lips, lower, then back up again while he waits for an answer. He tilts his head back, lets the crown of it press against the wall, and rolls it to the side, “No, you said things, I didn’t get to reply. I missed you, I’ve been cold and lonely. Warm me up.” He pulls at his hands, but the grip holding him there is firm. It feels so amazing, stirs his groin, and he hadn’t known being restrained would have this effect on him. Maybe they could explore this some more, later.

“You’re only seventeen.”

“My birthday is in two weeks. And it’s all legal, anyway. I know what I want, I want to take care of you. It isn’t like we haven’t done anything before. Please,” He rolls his hips again, desperate for the warmth, “Please, Beka, let me.”

Otabek goes completely still and Yuri’s breath catches. He’s done something wrong, he knows it. He doesn’t know what, but Otabek moves both of his wrists to one hand and moves his now free hand down to grab at his neck. Yuri’s eyes widen as Otabek leans closer, “What did you say?”

“L-Let me take care of you?” He isn’t certain what he’s triggered in the taller man, the hand around his neck tightens, presses against his airway in a way that’s almost delicious. It makes him strain, twisting his arms and pulling his body, but he’s completely trapped.

“No,” He can feel Otabek’s breath on his lips, “What did you call me?”

The edges of Yuri’s vision go a little black as he opens his eyes as wide as he can go, tries to arch in the firm hold to get a full breath of air. But Otabek knows exactly what he’s doing, and all Yuri can do is struggle to keep himself calm enough to reply, “B-Beka? I’m-I’m sorry, I won-”

He’s cut off by lips over his, the hand around his neck suddenly releasing and moving into his hair, pulling at it hard as Otabek’s larger body presses him into the wall of the tub. His hands are released and they scramble to find purchase on Otabek’s shoulders as he’s lifted off the ground and his legs are forcibly opened to accept Otabek’s hips between them. He breaks the kiss to gasp for a breath, turns his head for air, and Otabek just pushes forward, his mouth searching over Yuri’s neck and jawline.

A finger presses at his entrance and he leans his back against the wall again, pushes his hips forward, lets Otabek rub circles against the tight muscles to stimulate them into submission before he can push an unlubed fingertip in. It makes Yuri’s back arch, makes him put his hands on the wall and search for something to hold onto as he wraps his legs around Otabek’s lower back.

He gasps for a breath as Otabek lifts his head, his eyes are dark storms, he pauses his movements until Yuri looks straight at him again so he can ask, “Are you sure?” His voice is gravelly and restrained.

“Yes,” Yuri hisses, twists a hand into Otabek’s hair and leans forward to kiss him again, messy with tongue and teeth as Otabek moves the tip of the single digit in and out of him slowly. This is proof that Otabek is a master at torture; it’s not enough and it’s everything. And then it vanishes. Yuri’s trying to catch his breath as he watches Otabek grab a bottle of something from the nearby shelves. He smears the gel over fingers then lets the bottle drop, it makes a loud noise as it hits the floor, but it’s quickly forgotten as he pushes an entire digit into Yuri. Yuri’s out of breath again, feels it pushed out of him like he’s losing his soul. Otabek moves his finger slowly, thrusts his hips in time to his finger, pulls a cry from Yuri’s mouth.

It seems to spur him on, he pushes in a second finger, much less gentle, thrusts it a few times before he scissors them. Yuri feels his muscles try to fight and forces himself to breathe, moves a hand to his own cock with a few lazy strokes. Otabek’s mouth moves over his shoulder, follows his neckline, doesn’t mind that there’s hair in his mouth as he nips and kisses his way back up to Yuri’s mouth. His tongue dives into the cavern as he slips one more finger in, impatient now, swallows the noise that comes out of Yuri’s throat, ignores Yuri’s nails in his hair, pulling like it’s urgent, pulling like he’s desperate. Yuri doesn’t really know anymore. Otabek seems to, though.

And then he’s empty again, chasing the other’s mouth as he leans away, “No condom.”

Yuri tugs at Otabek’s head, pulls on him and rolls his hips again, “It doesn’t matter, I’m clean. It’s just you.” He nips Otabek’s lower lip and urges, “It’s only you. _Beka._ ”

It’s that diminutive, he realizes belatedly. It’s like a trigger, it short circuits something. One moment, Otabek breathes against him, the next, he’s inside him. The universe explodes and implodes around Yuri, he cries out, fingers into dark skin, presses forward like Otabek is some sort of savior. Otabek knows he isn’t, because he’s moving already, and he isn’t gentle. Yuri doesn’t want him to be anyway. He wants to _feel_ it. Wants to remember every second when he wakes up in the morning.

Fingers dig into his hips, his ass, any part of him that help hold him up and crash him down on the other’s cock. Yuri has no control of the situation, other than the hand he has wrapped around himself, and he’s so wrapped up in the feeling of the other slamming into his prostate that he’s neglecting it. Otabek doesn’t seem to care, or is just chasing release.

His breath is harsh against Yuri’s pulse, and it triggers something in the blonde, “Bite me.” He tries to make it a command, but his voice breaks and he’s not really sure if the request comes across, but it must because there’s teeth digging into his shoulder and his fingers dig into Otabek’s back and _holy fuck._

It’s all he needs, he’s pulsing, hot cum hitting Otabek’s stomach, Yuri’s own chest and chin. Otabek fucks him through his orgasm and he sees stars, dies as he crashes back against the tub wall, no longer cold, absorbing the heat of their movements and pushing it back at him. Otabek’s fingers tighten their hold on him and he focuses enough to push both hands into Otabek’s hair, drag his head up to make him look at him. He’s not sure if the other really sees him, but he leans in and kisses him again, murmurs, “ _Beka_.” again and watches how the other’s eyes dilate and he surges forward to kiss him violently. Yuri can feel the other spill into him, hot pulses inside of him, a sensation he’s never experienced before and it feels addicting.

Otabek rests his forehead against Yuri’s neck, stills inside of him, and holds him up against the wall and tries to collect himself. Yuri lets him, brushes fingers through his hair, keeps himself quiet in case the other comes to his senses and tries to get rid of him again. Eventually, he pulls out, lowers Yuri back to his own feet, but holds on, helps him balance. Yuri holds on because he’s not sure he could stand by himself. He blushes furiously when he feels warm liquid escape him and trail down his leg.

Otabek doesn’t speak. He picks up the bottle he’d tossed away, washes his hands in the spray, then shuffles them to push Yuri under the water. Yuri opens his mouth to protest, but fingers thread into his hair and he realizes Otabek begins washing him. He shampoos his hair with Otabek’s shampoo, rinses it, then conditions it with Yuri’s expensive cream, carefully brushing it through with his fingers. Yuri knows he’s taking longer than he needs to, but he doesn’t stop him. Closes his eyes and wonders if he’s actually still in bed dreaming when Otabek washes his body, realizes it’s not when he’s pushed to lean forward and Otabek cleans him out with gentle fingers and soft touches over his sore thighs.

Neither speaks as Otabek washes himself next. Yuri stands back, keeps his hands to himself, and watches the way the other’s muscles move. He feels like he managed to change something tonight, to break through a wall of some sort. Otabek turns his back to Yuri to rinse off and Yuri can fully see his tattoos, can see the scars cutting through them. He wants to touch and trace them, with his fingers and his tongue, wants to find all of Otabek’s sensitive spots and find a way to undo him like he can unravel Yuri.

The water is turned off and the silence is deafening. Otabek dries Yuri with his towel, doesn’t let Yuri do any work. The possessiveness in the movements is kind of cute, if not a little daunting. He remembers the hand around his neck and wonders how many times Otabek has done that to others. Wonders how many people have shared Otabek’s bed and breaths.

Otabek breaks away, moves to the bedroom and leaves Yuri alone in the bathroom. Yuri has an extensive after-shower routine, his hair requires a lot of maintenance, Otabek must expect him to do his usual. But he follows him to the doorframe, watches him towel off his hair and drop the towel around his neck, pull out shorts from a drawer and tug them on. He leans on the doorframe and waits. The silence remains, so he returns to the bathroom and picks up his brush.

He’s about halfway through his routine when Otabek is back in the doorway, watching him, breaking the silence with, “I have work tomorrow.”

Yuri frowns, looks at him in the mirror, “You just got back.”

“It won’t take long. Do you want to see a movie in the afternoon?” That’s an odd question, so Yuri quirks an eyebrow at him. Otabek just shrugs and heads back to the bedroom, not waiting on a response. Yuri watches Otabek’s mirror reflection sit on the edge of the bed and check the clip of his gun, then tuck it under the pillow. He pulls his eyes back to his own reflection and doesn’t recognize himself in them.

When he’s done, Otabek doesn’t protest when he climbs into the small bed with him, Yuri’s back pressed to the wall. Doesn’t say anything as he tucks his head into Otabek’s throat and listens to his heartbeat. Huffs a protest when Potya joins them, but ultimately lets her settle on his stomach. The shadows in the apartment move like monsters, but Yuri knows he’s safe as he listens to the pulse under him slow and the fingers in his hair slowly go limp and slide onto the bed. He smiles to himself and lets the night swallow them whole.

\------*------

Before the theatre, they make another stop. Otabek tells him to stay in the car, and his tone implies it’s non-negotiable. He watches the taller man cross the street and knock on the door of a two-story brick building. It takes a moment, but the door cracks open. He can’t see who Otabek is talking to, but they don’t talk long, Otabek barely moves, then the door closes and the other returns.

Yuri doesn’t ask questions, but as Otabek climbs back in the car, he sees the door open again, and an asian man with glasses looks at their car. Their eyes meet and he swears their eyes widen, but then the car is moving. Yuri doesn’t look back.

\------*------

He lets Otabek pick the movie, shuffles awkwardly while he falls behind to wait, then buys them drinks and a small popcorn. Otabek smiles at him in ways he’s never seen him smile before. They talk like they’re old friends and Yuri feels like maybe this is a real _date_. Maybe Otabek is letting him have a chance, finally.

They sit behind an older gentleman and a woman, over a few seats so they won’t be blocked from the screen. He’s stuffing popcorn in his mouth when Otabek asks, “Were you the one playing the piano?”

He pauses, then realizes they had never talked about it before. He nods, “My entire family does. Did. Grandfather taught me. My cousin is much better at it though.”

“I don’t know,” Otabek settles back into his seat and unbuttons his casual suit jacket, “I enjoyed listening to you play plenty. Do you miss it? You could go somewhere-”

“I’m not leaving you.” He cuts the line off, “Please, don’t make me. Please, let me be here, Otabek. Haven’t I been good? I’ve been trying. Let me stay with you.”

Otabek’s brow drops, he frowns, but says nothing, picks up Yuri’s leg and drops it over his lap. It’s such a casual gesture, Yuri feels like he’s won an argument and feeds the other a piece of popcorn. The conversation falls away as the previews roll.

Halfway through the movie, there’s movement and the man in front of them gets up and leaves, probably to use the restroom. Yuri ignores it, other than his brain acknowledging the movement, too focused on the movie. A few moments later, Otabek touches his leg and leans over, murmuring he’ll be right back. Yuri nods and moves his leg off Otabek’s lap. Otabek slips out and no one notices.

Otabek returns a few moments later.

The other man doesn’t.

\------*------

Yuri knows Otabek’s job, for the most part. Doesn’t know the details, doesn’t need to. Knows the important parts, who to impress and that he needs to keep his mouth shut when his friends come around. He doesn’t like Jean-Jacques, but he plays as nice as he can. The Canadian hangs around the apartment like a bad smell the next Saturday, Yuri’s one day off from the diner for the week. He drops onto the couch and doesn’t leave, even though Otabek won’t be back until later.

He calls Yuri ‘kitten’ and ‘chaton’ which he’s pretty sure is the same thing, but he doesn’t really know French so he’s not really sure. Yuri would leave, but he’d rather not leave the apartment with him inside. He watches television, makes himself food and doesn’t offer Jean-Jacques (“Call me JJ, chaton.” “Get bent, jackass.”) any.

He settles into an armchair, watching as his traitor of a cat leans into Jean-Jacques’s fingers from his peripheral vision, pretending to watch the television, when he gets asked, “What did your grandfather do?”

He frowns, looks at the other, “He was retired. Who cares? He was a librarian or something. Something with books.”

He almost misses Jean-Jacques’s reaction, his fingers still for an instant in Potya’s fur, but then they resume and that stupid smirk resumes. “And you don’t want to follow in his footsteps? I bet you’d look adorable in some library.”

“Fuck off, Jean-Jackass.”

Jean-Jacques laughs and lets the conversation drop.

\------*------

When Otabek comes home, he tells Yuri to go to bed. Yuri obeys, only because he knows that tone means Otabek is still working. He has work to discuss with Jean-Jacques and Yuri can’t listen in. He knows it’s for his own good, but he hates the look the Canadian gives him as he brushes by him.

“Good night, kitten.”

Yuri tosses him a middle finger and shuts the bedroom door behind himself. From the silence, he knows they’re listening to him, so he goes to the bathroom, does his routine for bed. When he emerges, they’re talking in hushed voices. It sounds like French again, and Yuri pauses turns off the light then stills by the door, listening. It sounds like they’re arguing, it gets heated. They sweep between French and Russian every few words and he’s only able to pick up random pieces.

_“The delivery---guarantees---”_

_“-it takes a while-”_

He thinks he hears his name in there, but it doesn’t make sense, “ _Yuri saw him. It’s going to get messy, Otabek. Do you know what you’re doing?”_

There’s a pause after that, he hears someone pace across the floor, then Otabek asks, “What are you talking about?”

“ _What do you know about your kitten, Beks?_ _Do you know who his grandfather was?”_

_“The old man who lived below me.”_

There’s movement again, Jean-Jacques rising from the couch, Yuri is guessing, “They called him The Librarian. Nikolai Plisetsky. _Otabek, do you know who you have in that bedroom?”_

Yuri doesn’t understand what Jean-Jacques is implying, doesn’t understand why his grandfather is important.

  
“Otabek, listen to me.” Yuri’s pretty sure his heart is going to beat out his chest, “ _They weren’t after you that night. They aren’t after you at all._ ”


End file.
